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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29993364">inside this place is warm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderlilac/pseuds/spiderlilac'>spiderlilac</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Coming Out, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Good Parent Maggie Tozier, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mike Wheeler-centric, Period-Typical Homophobia, Protective Mike Wheeler, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie Tozier-centric, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Swearing, Underage Smoking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:00:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,727</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29993364</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderlilac/pseuds/spiderlilac</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the summer of 1984, the Toziers move to the small town of Derry and Mike plays cupid with his little brother Richie and his new friend, this nervous kid named Eddie.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier &amp; Mike Wheeler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Derry welcomes you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>crossover created when i was thinking about how fun a siblings dynamic would be with moody teen mike and usual annoying richie and then i was like... my god i HAVE to write mike playing cupid on reddie wtf</p><p>important: there are a few sensitive topics in this fic such as bullying, homophobia and abusive family relationships (yes sonia i’m looking at u), it’s not too graphic but i tagged them anyway. if i missed to tag anything, please let me know and i’ll fix it right away!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Toziers have a road trip, Richie makes a connection and they finally make it to Derry.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i have no idea about american geography and my research might be flawed so i apologize for any mistakes here regarding the trip !</p><p>spanish translation at the end :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>JUNE, 1984</strong>
</p><p>“Richie, get your ass down here right now!”</p><p>The boy sighs, trembling hands running through his hair in a nervous motion.</p><p>“Coming!” he calls over his shoulder.</p><p>The specific object he is looking for is nowhere close— if it was, it would be ten times easier to find; there is only a bed with a bare mattress and a dresser with five drawers he emptied days ago in the room.</p><p>“We’re gonna leave without you!” the voice downstairs threatens. “I swear!”</p><p>Richie knows it is impossible for it to be there, and yet goes to check under the bed and through all five drawers again, because he can’t think of another place where it could be.</p><p>“Richard Tozier!”</p><p>Heavy steps pound their way upstairs, down the corridor, Richie can almost <em>feel</em> them coming closer and closer until the door to his —soon to be former— bedroom opens and his bother’s head pokes inside.</p><p>Mike has been comically believed to be Richie’s twin an insane amount of times. They do look alike, he has to admit — the same pale face full of freckles, the same lanky body, the same ebony hair displayed in graceful curls, even the same bad posture for being taller than most kids their age.</p><p>But Mike, now sixteen, is three years older.</p><p>That’s a fact he would <em>never</em> let Richie forget.</p><p>Of course, there are other small differences; Mike is a few inches taller and doesn’t need glasses unlike Richie, who also keeps his hair a little shorter, but Mike has always taken his role as big bother very seriously, much for Richie’s distaste. <em>I’m older than you, so do as I fucking say.</em></p><p>“I fucking told you to be ready at seven, didn’t I? You never listen! What’s taking so damn long?!”</p><p>Richie prides himself on the fact he has dealt with Mike’s extreme temper for time enough (his whole life) to be used to it.</p><p>“I’ll be there in a second! I told you!”</p><p>He tries his best to sound firm, but his creaking voice (product of puberty) makes it difficult. The older sibling doesn’t move from the door for what seems like twenty actual seconds, but an eternity for Richie, who can feel his eyes burning on the back of his head.</p><p>“What is it?” Mike asks, calmer, but annoyed still.</p><p>Richie swallows and turns around, offering him an innocent smile. “I— uh, I can’t find my glasses.”</p><p>Mike rolls his eyes as exaggeratedly as possible.</p><p>“You literally use them to <em>see</em>! How’s possible you lose them?!”</p><p>“I don’t know!” Richie defends himself, but again, the squinting since he can’t quite see his bother’s face and high-pitched voice kind of counter it. “Just— help me find them!”</p><p>With a dramatic loud groan, Mike heads to his own bedroom to send a quick glance everywhere, although it is in the same state of emptiness as Richie’s. Once he concludes they are not there, he goes to check the bathroom, the next door in the corridor.</p><p>Maggie Tozier is anxiously taking another drag of her cigarette beside the front door.</p><p>“Boys, it’s a long trip, we gotta leave now!”</p><p>Both bedroom and bathroom are discarded now, and Mike is pissed off. He stomps his way downstairs to the living room, passing by his mother, who gives him a curious glance before taking another long drag.</p><p>The moving has been a heavy loan in her shoulders.</p><p>“Ma, get in the car. We’ll catch up,” Mike tells her, as reassuring as possible, before turning to the stairs. “Richie, get down! Now!”</p><p>Just when Maggie disappears through the front door, the younger Tozier is storming down the steps, staring expectantly at his brother.</p><p>“Go look in the kitchen for the glasses,” Mike commands, and by the grace of God, Richie obeys.</p><p>He is never so compliant, so Mike guesses it has something to do with the adrenaline of being rushed to get out or the adrenaline of moving itself, because he feels the exact same since the beginning of the year, when their mother told them her plans of getting the hell out of Hawkins. One night she asked them to have dinner with her at the kitchen table instead of the couch at the living room to watch tv as they usually did, all formal and suspicious.</p><p>Mike had agreed with her instantly. She was mainly thinking about how they were running out of money, but he wanted to get out of the house that held too many memories. Some good, some bad, but too many at the end of the day.</p><p>They are overwhelming — constricting his neck every time Mike even <em>thinks</em> of them.</p><p>A fresh start seems exciting. Even if they are moving to an old house that used to belong to their deceased aunt because they can’t afford anything else. Even if they had to sell a bunch of stuff because they can’t take a lot and because apparently hiring moving trucks is very expensive.</p><p><em>Do you wanna stay here?</em>, Mike asked Richie that very night, once Maggie had gone to sleep.</p><p><em>Not really</em>, Richie confessed.</p><p>It was during that late night conversation that Mike came to terms with the fact that he, surprisingly, cares consciously about his brother’s feelings.</p><p><em>Consciously</em> is the key word. He always cares about Richie, always runs after him to prevent him from getting hurt in the five hundred stupid things he does in a day, always feels responsible for making sure he does his homework and eats dinner (<em>real dinner</em>, Mike emphasizes, <em>not only greasy nuggets and chips</em>) but he usually blamed his ‘big brother sense’ or moral compromise to do something as natural as taking care of his sibling for that feeling.</p><p>Now, Mike knows there’s nothing to blame. Being family doesn’t mean instant effort to protect someone; he protects Richie because he <em>wants</em> to.</p><p>“The glasses aren’t here!” comes a desperate cry from the kitchen.</p><p>Mike groans.</p><p>Yeah, he wants to protect Richie, even if it destroys his patience.</p><p>“Did you check on the countertop?!”</p><p>“Yes!”</p><p>“The table? The space where the fridge was?!”</p><p>“Uh…”</p><p>He can Richie walking around the kitchen before he abruptly stops. A quiet gasp sounds and his little brother comes running to him, triumphantly holding the glasses above his head.</p><p>“They were on the floor, where the fridge was!” the <em>You were right</em> goes unspoken. “I can’t remember how they got there, though.”</p><p>Mike rolls his eyes, placing a hand on Richie’s shoulder to guide him out.</p><p>“You were helping mom to move stuff from the kitchen late last night and you’re a dumbass. It’s not very hard to guess.”</p><p>Once they’re outside, Richie puts his glasses on to take a look at the house he has lived in his whole life for the last time. Mike lets him for a moment before patting his arm.</p><p>“Okay, go get in the car.”</p><p>Richie does so without a word. Mike is glad for that, because he knows he would’ve been able to notice how bad his hands are shaking if he stuck around.</p><p>It’s the end of something. The end of a constant reminder of memories Mike no longer wants to remember. Fishing in his pocket for the key seems like a painful process, but he does it anyway, as fast as he can to lock the front door closed.</p><p>Then he turns on his heels and rushes to join his family on Maggie’s beat up silver car.</p><p>She has finished her cigarette, now running her fingers over the steering wheel to keep herself busy. Mike smiles at her after climbing into the passenger seat. At the back, Richie is humming the tune to the <em>Ghostbusters</em> theme song.</p><p>Maggie takes a deep breath and starts the engine.</p><p>—</p><p>The trip to Derry turns out to be a tedious one.</p><p>It was chilly when they left Hawkins; the sky barely lit up by the morning sun. Now that they’ve spent hours under the afternoon heat all the way through the highway crossing the woods, the inside of the car feels like hell itself. Richie calculates it’s around two or three p.m. He hasn’t asked in case Mike decides he only gets ‘questions privilege’ once for the whole ride.</p><p>In fact, he hasn’t done much since he got in the car. He took advantage of the quietness during the first hours to get the sleep he lost for waking up so early. Then, when they stopped briefly at a gas station, he had a tuna sandwich and a grape juice box Maggie had packed while sitting on the asphalt with Mike and later brushed his teeth on the station’s restroom. He chatted with his mother a little about which city they were in (somewhere in Ohio), and afterwards slept some more, tossing and turning in the limited space of the backseat.</p><p>So it’s been hours and according to Maggie they’re not even close to Maine. So in Richie’s opinion, getting out in the early morning was pointless.</p><p>“If we drive continuously, we might get there at midnight,” Maggie contemplates.</p><p>Mike’s eyes widen and he shakes his head fervently. “That’s a bad idea. Maybe we could stop somewhere for lunch, use the extra money I got from the schoolbooks I sold last week? Just to grab some air.”</p><p>“But we’re already wasting time stopping for gas,” she mutters, frustration growing in her tone. “And we packed food for a reason—”</p><p>“Ma.”</p><p>“Fine,” she nods, defeated. “Sorry, dear. I’m tired.”</p><p>“It’s okay, ma. I know. What if I drive for a while? You haven’t rested a bit.”</p><p>Maggie is taking a moment to consider it when Richie chimes in.</p><p>“Didn’t you fail your driving test?”</p><p>“So?” Mike throws him a glare over his shoulder.</p><p>“So? I don’t wanna be killed by my own brother driving recklessly!” Richie shudders dramatically. “Besides, driving without a permit? Aren’t we forgetting about, you know, the law?”</p><p>“Your brother’s right,” laments Maggie before Mike can snark back a comment. “Speaking of. Have you thought of taking the test again?”</p><p>Mike huffs, sinking into his seat.</p><p>“Nope. I don’t wanna go through that again.”</p><p>“It’d be in Derry, though,” there’s little hope in her voice. “Maybe things will be different there. Well, at least I hope so.”</p><p>“I hope so too,” he turns at the window.</p><p>They end up going to a diner between another gas station and a motel at the outskirts of Pennsylvania, with a sign above the door that promises the restaurant to be the best in the highway.</p><p>However, as soon as they step inside, they realize that for such a flattering self-claim, the place is lacking of costumers and visibly neglected, collecting dust on every surface and with walls that are slowly peeling off the dirty yellow paint.</p><p>The privilege of going to a diner in the middle of nowhere for lunch is that they get to choose where to sit. Per Richie’s request, they settle on a booth close to a window (“we’ve got the sights!” he excitedly pointed out. “Those are just trees,” Mike whined, but followed him anyway) and patiently scan the menus attached to the napkin holder.</p><p>“Can you order for me?” Richie tugs the sleeve of Mike’s blue polo.</p><p>“You can order yourself, Richie.”</p><p>“The cheeseburger sounds good,” Maggie says, oblivious to the discussion happening across from her.</p><p>“I fucking need to pee though.”</p><p>Mike grimaces, still eyeing the menu. “Gross! Ugh, Richard. I didn’t need to know that.”</p><p>“Is that a yes?”</p><p>“Fine. Chicken nuggets?”</p><p>“That’s right, <em>mi hermano</em>,” Richie grins before sliding off the booth.</p><p>“Your Spanish is terrible,” Mike deadpans, aware Richie is now too far away to hear him. He turns at Maggie. “Ma, what’re you gonna get?”</p><p>“Cheeseburger, I think. It comes with fries.”</p><p>“I’ll get it too.”</p><p>A blonde girl in a pink uniform dress, visibly miserable and holding a small notebook, comes to take their order with a fake smile. In a complete monotone voice, she mentions how good of a choice getting the cheeseburger is before turning on her heels and making her way back to the kitchen.</p><p>“So,” Maggie prompts, crossing her arms over the table. “The call with Will last night.”</p><p>“You heard us?” he gapes, then winces. “It was like two a.m., sorry.”</p><p>“I couldn’t sleep anyway. There’s a lot of echo in an empty house, apparently,” she giggles. “What did you two talk about?”</p><p>“Eh, not much. Just about the moving and stuff.”</p><p>“Oh. He’s gonna miss you a lot, I’m sure.”</p><p>“Max said he could get a new best friend in two weeks,” Mike grumbles. “Although El said she was just joking. Then Lucas said no one will ever compare to me, and Dustin <em>immediately</em> agreed with him, so that’s comforting.”</p><p>“Yeah, your friends really appreciate you,” the slight joy in her voice is gone, and her face sours. “I’m sorry you had to leave them, dear.”</p><p>“Ma, c’mon,” Mike pleads. “This is not your fault, it’s not like you’re forcing me to move. I told you I wanted to, didn’t I?”</p><p>“I know, I just— I feel like we’re out of power in a lot of things in our life, you know?” she explains, and Mike nods, because he <em>does</em> get what she means. “I hate it. I hate feeling that.”</p><p>“So do I. And I’m sure Richie too. But what else could we do? Stay <em>there</em>? In <em>their</em> house?”</p><p>Maggie’s eyes shoot up at her son.</p><p>“Don’t mention them, Michael.”</p><p>Regret coats Mike’s face, all determination gone. His lips form a thin line.</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>At the back, Richie is walking down the corridor separating the restroom from the diner, running his freshly washed hands over his sides and leaving wet imprints with the shape of his fingers in the fabric of his cargo shorts.</p><p>It’s then when he hears a strangled sound, alarmingly close to a sob.</p><p>Richie has always been a curious kid; it’s in his blood or something, his mother told him once. He supposes it makes sense, because he stops dead in his tracks and waits for the sound to come again.</p><p>It does. It’s so clear, Richie is one hundred percent sure there’s someone crying now.</p><p>After a brief investigation consisting of standing on his toes and whipping his head around to try and see something in the deserted diner, he finally deduces the source is the first booth around the corner. It’s confirmed when there’s another sob, this time followed by a cough and a series of pained whimpers, coming from there.</p><p>He tip-toes his way around the booth, discovering the sight of a girl hunched over the table, face hid on her hands as another sob comes out of her.</p><p>Richie, for once, isn’t sure of what to say.</p><p>“Uh… hi?”</p><p>He then notices she has bright red hair tied up in a low ponytail, which moves to rest on her right shoulder when her head jerks up. Her hands fall to her sides and suddenly, green eyes are directly staring at him.</p><p>“W-what—”</p><p>“Oh, right. Sorry,” he chuckles nervously. “Are you hurt? Do you need help? I can call 911!”</p><p>“What?” she repeats in a hoarse voice, shaking her head. “No— no! I’m fine, of course I’m fine.”</p><p>She furiously wipes the tears off of her cheeks with her fingers as if to prove it. Richie shifts his weight from one foot to the other, tilting his head to the side.</p><p>“Are you sure? You were crying pretty uglily, if you ask me,” he says, tone light. “With the sobs and gasps and all, you kinda sounded like a dying cat.”</p><p>Before replying, the crying girl looks around for a second, checking for something Richie can’t really comprehend, before turning at him again. She lets her face soften and, as if on cue, all her body relaxes.</p><p>“That’s rude,” she retorts, but doesn’t seem to mind at all. “But— uh, sorry, for the noise, I guess.”</p><p>“Hey! It’s all alright!”</p><p>Richie offers her a toothy smile and invites himself to sit across from her on the booth. Her eyebrows shoot up at first, but the startled look doesn’t last long.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“You look like you might want some company,” he shrugs. “Do you want me to leave?”</p><p>She thinks only for two seconds before shaking her head. “Not really.”</p><p>“Okay,” then his smile widens. “What’s your name? I’m Richie.”</p><p>“Beverly.”</p><p>“Beverly— how nice!”</p><p>Surprisingly, she smiles too. It’s a little, weak smile, but considering she was crying her eyes out merely minutes ago, Richie is counting it as a win.</p><p>“Thanks, Richie.”</p><p>“You’re welcome! Now tell me, what are you doing in this lovely establishment in the middle of fucking nowhere?!” he flourishes the words with a dramatic gesture to their surroundings, at which Beverly straight up <em>giggles</em>.</p><p>“My dad’s a bus driver and I go with him sometimes,” she explains, smile faltering a little. “He left me here to grab lunch, will come pick me up later.”</p><p>Richie doesn’t say anything, because as he studies Beverly’s face, he makes out the willing to say more in her focused expression.</p><p>“We had a fight,” she eventually says. Her smile has disappeared completely and she is looking at her hands on her lap now. “That’s— that’s the reason I was crying.”</p><p>Blinking, Richie tries not to look too shocked at the sudden oversharing.</p><p>“Oh. Well, that’s pretty shitty—”</p><p>“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Beverly clarifies. “I just thought— I just wanted to let you know. Since you heard me and, yeah, that.”</p><p>“Oh,” he repeats. “Okay, um.”</p><p>She bursts out in a fit of giggles and <em>shit</em>, the sound is so warm and contagious, soon Richie is laughing too.</p><p>“Man, shit got dark real fast!” she wheezes. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Richie.”</p><p>“Ah, I’m glad that shit’s over. I’m not good at sad silences, miss Beverly, really,” Richie wipes imaginary sweat off of his forehead. “If you want proof— just let me tell you what happened at my grandpa’s funeral!”</p><p>They hit it off in such a smooth way, Richie wonders why seemed so hard to make friends back in Indiana. There, the closest he had to that were, actually, Mike’s friends, who let Richie stick around, even though he never participated in any of their activities, like playing D&amp;D or skating around. He had no problem interacting with people, like neighbors or classmates or anyone, but it was a miracle when the person on the other end of the interaction actually reciprocated his energy.</p><p>He is so entranced telling Beverly about that time his mother almost had a heart attack caused by the stress he ‘put her through’ that he doesn’t realize a known voice getting closer to the booth.</p><p>“Richie, what the hell? Ma’s wo—” Mike cuts himself off at the sight of Beverly, frowning slightly. “Who’s this?”</p><p>“This is Beverly, my new friend!” Richie introduces proudly. “Miss Beverly, meet Michael, my brother.”</p><p>The girl looks terrified, ready to close off again at any second, and Richie immediately notices. He tries to shift closet to the edge of the seat, hoping the sudden realization of similarity between him and Mike will distract her as it usually distracts everyone else.</p><p>It works; her eyes go from one of them to the other repeatedly in confusion.</p><p>“Wow, you two—”</p><p>“Really look alike,” Mike sighs. “We <em>know</em>.”</p><p>“Nah, I’m way cuter, right Bev?” Richie leans closer to her over the table, winking in an exaggerated way.</p><p>“Sure,” she chuckles. “The glasses add some charm.”</p><p>“Please don’t humor him,” Mike deadpans, while Richie beams at her.</p><p>“Okay, it’s official! You’re my new best friend!”</p><p>Glancing back at their table, Mike motions for Richie to get up.</p><p>“C’mon, let’s go back, ma must be wondering where we are.”</p><p>“Sure, sure, gotta get back to mother!”</p><p>Once Richie is standing next to Mike, he turns his back at Beverly and leans forward to whisper to him.</p><p>“Can I ask Beverly if she wants to sit with us?”</p><p>“You literally just met her.”</p><p>“But she’s cool and she’s here all alone until her dad comes to pick her up!”</p><p>Beverly shifts in her seat awkwardly. She wonders if they’re aware she can hear pretty much everything they say, their whispers are not exactly discreet.</p><p>Mike rolls his eyes in characteristic dramatic fashion. He considers lecturing Richie some more about the danger of approaching strangers, but it is late and he is hungry, so he gives a reluctant nod.</p><p>“Bev!” Richie spins around, grinning. “Would you like to sit with us?”</p><p>She agrees, nodding eagerly, hands ready to take her backpack from its spot on the floor between her feet.</p><p>Mike and Richie silently walk her to their table, where Maggie is tabbing french fries with a plastic fork. The stabbing stops and her unblinking eyes follow the three kids until they’re seated, Mike by her side while Beverly and Richie take the other end of the booth.</p><p>“So… Richie made a friend,” Mike explains through gritted teeth.</p><p>Beverly holds out a hand to Maggie.</p><p>“Beverly.”</p><p>“Maggie,” she shakes the hand, squeezing it briefly. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but where are your parents, sweetie?”</p><p>“My dad drives a bus that goes all the way through this highway,” the redhead says, almost in autopilot. She takes a chicken nugget Richie is offering and continues, “When I go with him to his routes, he drops me off somewhere for lunch. He usually comes back in two hours.”</p><p>Maggie nods, browns knitted together. The gesture makes her look a lot like Richie and Mike.</p><p>“Do you want to order? I can call the waitress over, although I think she got pissed when I asked her if the place is this empty every day.”</p><p>The slight tension surrounding the table melts away just like that; Richie cackles, Mike snorts behind his hand and Maggie smiles, all teeth inviting Beverly to do the same, so she does.</p><p>—</p><p>Saying bye to Beverly was hard.</p><p>No, <em>hard</em> was an understatement. It was devastating. Richie is convinced he had felt something with her — the kind of connection you make with someone when you are destined to be friends forever, or so he explains to Mike once they are back at the car, not the kind of connection you make with a kid you meet at a diner and will never see again.</p><p>Beverly’s dad had come back to pick her up, scowling at the sight of his <em>little girl </em>with strangers. Maggie was quick to explain they were just keeping her company, “So she didn’t have to eat alone”, but Mr. <em>Fucking Creep</em> dismissed her efforts and commanded for Beverly to follow him back to the commercial bus parked outside.</p><p>Mike glared daggers at his back while Maggie huffed something about how rude he was, but Richie stood by the entrance and waved at Beverly until her mass of red hair disappeared into the bus, smiling when she waved back before the doors closed.</p><p>It has been a couple of hours since then, now the highway surrounded by quiet night.</p><p>Mike and Maggie took turns driving until she became aware of his continuous yawns and as soon as the car approached the next stop, asked him to pull over for the night. If the stop in question was a gloomy motel which looked straight out of a horror movie, she said nothing about it.</p><p><em>It’s not so bad</em>, Richie said, almost as if he could read Mike’s mind.</p><p>The street lights were blinking above them and there were only other three cars in the parking lot. The man behind the desk at the lobby scratched his white beard and sent Maggie heart eyes while he gave her the key for their room, and Mike had to bite his lip from laughing when Richie fake-gagged at it.</p><p>They stumbled into the room around midnight. Maggie passed out on the only couch there, Richie took one of the twin beds without even bothering to take his jacket off, and just like that, both were out in less than five minutes.</p><p>Mike, however, laid unable to sleep for hours, staring at the ceiling with Richie’s soft snores from the parallel bed as background noise.</p><p>He finally found sleep around four in the morning, only to be shaken awake by Maggie at six.</p><p>“C’mon, dear, it’s still a long way to Derry,” she says. “I’m gonna take Richie to get gummy bears from the vending machine at the lobby. You want anything?”</p><p>Mikes rises to sit on the bed and nods, instantly regretting his choice when sunlight hit his sore eyes.</p><p>“Not from the machine though. Can I have some change?”</p><p>Maggie frowns, but grabs her purse.</p><p>“Sure, I guess. What for?”</p><p>“I saw a public phone outside last night and I wanna use it.”</p><p>She doesn’t ask who he wants to call, and instead places a couple of pennies on his waiting palm. And a kiss on his cheek before heading out.</p><p>Only one car from the three that Mike saw last night is still there when he steps outside. The morning wind makes his messy bangs move from one side of his forehead to the other, and he uselessly tries to fix them with his free hand as he approaches the phone.</p><p>It’s old but proudly still working. Mike slides the change through the opening and dials a number he knows by heart, taking the phone from its base and inspecting it before putting it by his ear.</p><p><em>Beep, beep, beep</em> sounds for a while. And then a soft, polite voice:</p><p>“Byers residence. Hello?”</p><p>“Did you mom tell you to answer the phone like that?”</p><p>“Mike!” Will cries, careful tone now forgotten. “How’s Derry? Are you already there?”</p><p>“I wish,” Mike scoffs. “We stopped at a motel for the night.”</p><p>“Oh, I get it. I suppose that’s why you’re calling so early?” Will asks, not really annoyed, but Mike still feels his cheeks burning up.</p><p>“Shit, did I woke you up? I’m so sorry—”</p><p>“It’s okay. It’s nice hearing your voice.”</p><p>Despite the lack of sleep, Mike smiles.</p><p>“This trip’s been insane.”</p><p>“Yeah, I figured. The Toziers moving to another state? God forbid they make it simple.”</p><p>Mike gives a full-on laugh now, leaning his side on the wall beside the phone and looking down at his feet.</p><p>“I just wanna get to fucking Derry already, you know? Enjoy the rest of the summer I’ve got. Explore the town, meet people, whatever.”</p><p>“And connect with nature, yeah, sure,” Will giggles. “We both know you’d rather die than actually do that.”</p><p>“Hey! You don’t know it. I might have plans to go out or something.”</p><p>“Hmmm. Do you really have plans?”</p><p>“I mean, <em>no</em>, but I <em>could</em>.”</p><p>He hears shifting, then a sigh.</p><p>“Sorry, I had to bring a chair from the kitchen,” Will mutters. “Well, out of the Tozier boys, we know Richie is the social one, so, what does he wanna do?”</p><p>The Tozier boys. Mike hasn’t heard those words referring to Richie and himself since Mrs. Wallace down the street stormed out of her house and yelled at them for running in her front yard. It wasn’t their fault her dog always wanted to play with someone just when they got out of the bus from school, though.</p><p>“He has no idea. I know he’ll start running around town and get like ten friends out of it though. Yesterday we stopped at this diner and he had a fucking <em>connection</em> of something with a girl he met a few tables away,” Mike wishes Will could see him rolling his eyes.</p><p>“You’re rolling your eyes right now, aren’t you?” when Mike doesn’t answer, Will almost screams. “You so <em>are</em>! I can totally see it!”</p><p>“Shh! And don’t call us the Tozier boys, it’s so weird.”</p><p>They laugh.</p><p>Mike gives detailed commentary on the rest of the trip, and they laugh again. Will tells him about how Dustin got sick and managed to get Lucas and Max sick too, and they laugh some more. Conversations with Will always seem to be like that: all stories and laughs. It’s nice, like a routine Mike would never get tired of.</p><p>But it all crumbles down when Mike looks up and Richie is waving at him from the car, Maggie standing outside with a hand on her hip.</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“We’re going back on the road.”</p><p>“Oh,” Will inhales, and says obviously, “You have to go now then.”</p><p>“Yeah, more hours of infernal time in that car,” he spits with as much venom as possible, but Will giggles. “I’ll call you once we’re in Derry, yeah? I promise. Well, if the fucking phone-line works, that is. Ma says the house is old as fuck.”</p><p>“Just go, Mike!” Will attempts to chide him, but still sounds fond. “We’ll talk later. I’ll tell the others you miss them.”</p><p>Before Mike can say goodbye, the time is over, so the call cuts off and the <em>beep beep beep</em> echoes in his ear. He curses all public phones before placing it back to its base and making his way to the car.</p><p>Maggie is already behind the steering wheel when he climbs into the backseat, and without missing a beat, she asks, “How’s Will?”</p><p>And Mike is grateful she is not looking at him, because he is pretty sure every bit of blood has rushed to his cheeks. Richie giggles and shoves a red gummy bear into his mouth.</p><p>“How did you know it was him?”</p><p>“There’s just one person you’d want to talk to right now,” she says easily. “So, how’s he doing?”</p><p>“He’s fine, we talked about this and that… he, actually, he asked if Derry’s nice in the fall— uh, he wants to visit on Thanksgiving.”</p><p>Maggie looks delighted.</p><p>“I’d love to have him for Thanksgiving!”</p><p>“Me too!” Richie rushes to say. “Plus, if he’s around, you won’t be so bitter during dinner that day.”</p><p>Mike bites his tongue to not spit out an insult and rests his temple on the window instead, looking for something to change the topic.</p><p>“You said the moving truck got there in the morning, ma?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. Mr. Robinson was an angel about it and put all our stuff inside the house. The rest is coming first thing on Monday.”</p><p>“Good to know we only have to spend one night sleeping on the floor,” Richie jokes lightheartedly. “Why did the beds go last anyway?”</p><p>“It was cheaper,” Maggie reminds him.</p><p>That has been the answer to several questions about the moving.</p><p>—</p><p>“Holy shit, look at that!”</p><p>The scold for inappropriate language dies in Maggie’s mouth when she glances at the direction Richie is pointing out, sticking his arm out of the window. At the side of the road, she can read it perfectly.</p><p>
  <em>Derry welcomes you</em>
</p><p>“We’re here!” she cheers.</p><p>Their excited voices wake Mike up, who is just waking up from a blessed nap on the uncomfortable backseat — well, at least he thought it was just a nap, but judging by the intense sunlight falling directly on his face, he slept way more than he intended.</p><p>He rubs his eyes with his fists and rolls to lay on his back before slowly getting up to a seating position on the middle part of the seat.</p><p>“Where are we?”</p><p>“In Derry,” Maggie lets out a heavy sigh. “Finally.”</p><p>Mike can see something at the distance now; buildings. Houses. Streets. Everything is glowing in a soft orange light provided by the summer sun. Richie still has his head out the window, beaming at some farm animals hanging out at a side of the road.</p><p>As soon as the car pulls into the main street of Derry, Mike mirrors Richie’s method of exploration and plants his palms flat agains the window to his right, leaning into it. He can see scattered children running ahead of exhausted parents all the way to an ice scream stand at the park. The car goes all around it, Maggie tapping her fingers on the steering wheel as it does so.</p><p>“Lots of kids,” she points out and the car turns right.</p><p>Aunt Linda’s house is the last in the street. Maggie parks parallel as if it is something she has done a million times before and the engine stops. In silent sync, the three of them get out.</p><p>The house is still standing, although it definitely has seen better days, such says the dry lawn at the front and fading ivory paint. Mike notices a fine layer of dust covering the knob as he approaches the front door. Richie is following close to Maggie, studying his surroundings with wary curiosity.</p><p>Their belongings, packed away in cardboard boxes, receive them displayed in the entrance hall.</p><p>“Home sweet home,” Richie mutters.</p><p>“In its defense,” Maggie grimaces at the spiderwebs hanging from the ceiling, “I remember it being way nicer years ago. Uh, time really did a number on it.”</p><p>“It’ll do,” Mike shrugs.</p><p>He grabs one of the boxes labeled to his room (<em>Mike</em> scribbled in black marker at the side) and makes his way upstairs, muttering something about unpacking.</p><p>Maggie busies herself looking into the kitchen labeled boxes for something that could work for lunch, since their breakfast was the last packeted tuna sandwiches and grape juice boxes.</p><p>And Richie starts wandering around, carefully stepping on the wooden material of the floor that creaks with every movement.</p><p>The living room has out-dated furniture covered by plastic films to protect them from the dust. The walls are full of pictures that even though look familiar, star people Richie has never seen before — he only recognizes aunt Linda two times, although is hard to be sure. He then goes to the kitchen, which is small, but has a fridge bigger than the one they sold and a higher countertop and way more cabinets Maggie already is checking out.</p><p>He eventually goes back to the front yard. Lazily, he walks around the pots of dead flowers attempting to create a small garden at the corner of the yard against the fence that divides the house’s property with the one next to it.</p><p>“Shit, run!”</p><p>Richie is looking for dry leaves to step on when the voice comes, and he turns around just to see three boys stumble on the lawn.</p><p>They’re breathing heavily and glancing around, as if looking for something dangerous. The tallest of them who wears a red flannel is the first to get back on his feet. He leans against the fence, slightly kicking one of the flower pots, and stands on his toes to peek over it.</p><p>“It s-seems we lost them,” he tells the others, relief coating his features.</p><p>Another one, with curly brown hair that falls over his forehead, clutches his chest.</p><p>“I think my pulled something in my lungs.”</p><p>Then the last one, a kid with a goddamn <em>fanny pack</em> and huge eyes filled with worry mirrors his action, squealing.</p><p>“Is— is that possible?! I feel something in my lungs too! Shit, what if I broke something? My mom’s gonna kill me!”</p><p>Richie steps forward, grinning.</p><p>“Holy fuck, you guys! That was one hell of a run!”</p><p>The three boys’ heads whip up to look at him, flashes of confusion and embarrassment passing through their faces. Since none of them seems to figure out how to speak again, Richie opens his mouth again.</p><p>“You landed pretty harsh on that poor grass, I’d be impressed if you didn’t broke a bone,” he looks at the short one with the fanny pack.</p><p>But the boy doesn’t answer. Instead, Flannel steps forward too, staring at Richie.</p><p>“W-who are y-y-you?”</p><p>“Tsk, tsk, young man! Shouldn’t I be the one asking that? Since I live here, and you don’t, you’re the ones that are violating private property,” he taunts, shaking his head with playful disapproval.</p><p>Fanny Pack’s face pales in a second, and the turns at Curly Hair. “Violating private property? Can we get in trouble for that?”</p><p>“Oh, you sure can!” Richie can feel his cheeks hurting for grinning so wide. “You better explain yourselves before I get the authorities!”</p><p>“No, no!” Flannel holds his hands up in surrender. “We were just—”</p><p>“We were being followed by a group of assholes who dedicate their whole lives to make ours a living fucking hell and I think we weren’t in the mood to get punched today,” Curly Hair says, tone flat. “One of them pushed me last week and I fell from a chair and my arm still hurts so, please consider that. I also would like to apologize for my language, I haven’t run that much since I was in third grade and every part of my growing body is burning.”</p><p>Richie nods throughout the whole explanation, pretending to deliberate with his index finger tapping on his chin.</p><p>After a couple of silent minutes, he bursts in a fit of giggles.</p><p>“Oh my god!” he cackles, holding his stomach. “I don’t give a fuck about the violating property thing. Being honest, I don’t even know if that exists. Fuck, you should’ve seen your <em>faces</em>. What a <em>sight</em>.”</p><p>Any sign of tension leaves their bodies at the same time, which makes Richie laugh even more, even though Fanny Pack looks ready to murder him.</p><p>“That’s not funny, dickhead! Why would you lie about this being your property?”</p><p>“Actually, I didn’t lie about that,” Richie clarifies, gesturing at the house behind him. “I do live here.”</p><p>“In the Tozier hou-house?” Flannel’s brows knit together.</p><p>“Yup. We moved in today.”</p><p>“I have never seen anyone who moved to Derry on purpose,” Fanny Pack mumbles, eyeing Richie curiously. “Where are you from?”</p><p>“Oh, the wonderful Indiana! Hawkins, if we’re being precise.”</p><p>“Never heard of it. How is it?”</p><p>“Uh, well, it’s just a small town— pretty much like Derry.”</p><p>“So it’s shit.”</p><p>Richie’s stomach hurts from laughing but he still throws his head backwards and wheezes. “<em>Dude</em>. I like you already— hey, what’s your name?”</p><p>Eddie, that’s his name.</p><p>And Flannel is Bill.</p><p>And Curly Hair is Stanley.</p><p>The four of them sit on the doorway steps and talk for what seems like hours.</p><p>Richie learns that they have been friends since kindergarten, all three born and raised in Derry. Bill has a little brother named George, Eddie’s mother is kind of insane (according to the other two, at least). Stanley seems a little closed off about his family, only giving away the detail that his father puts a lot of pressure in his shoulders.</p><p>Right after the subject changes to what they have been doing the first part of summer, which Eddie says only consists of hanging out at the arcade (Richie makes a mental note to tell Mike they have an arcade to check out later) and the Quarry, which is not ideal for children, but is fun anyway.</p><p>That and running from Henry Bowers, a nightmare followed by another assholes with the same bad intentions who has been after them since they can remember, and the reason they hid in Richie’s front lawn in the first place. The description makes Richie grimace at the idea of running into the guy, memories of Troy back home still haunting him.</p><p>Richie feels as if he has lived his whole life in Derry as well through the perspective of the other three boys. They make everything sound familiar in an easy way, the kind of way that makes Richie excited to see and experiment everything they are talking about himself.</p><p>When the sun is about to set, Bill leaves. His smile at Richie holds a promise to see him again before he turns around and runs out of his sight.</p><p>Stanley follows ten minutes after, saying his mother probably had dinner ready by now. He stares at Richie, almost analyzing him, and shrugs. ‘You’re not so bad’ is the verdict, which makes Richie very happy.</p><p>Then Eddie is the last one, sat by Richie’s side on the last step. He is rambling about something— Richie didn’t really catch the theme, but considers himself already a fan of it. He has never met someone who talked as much as him, which is to say a lot, but he finds himself enjoying Eddie’s voice.</p><p>“And the Quarry— it’s a really cool place. It’s kinda gross ‘cause there’s a lot of fucking dirt and animals there— that’s like, a million germs already, but as long as you put a towel or something on the ground to sit on it, it’s fine.”</p><p>“Sounds cool,” Richie pushes his glasses up his nose. “I wish back home we had places like that. Hawkins had a cliff that no one would survive if they fell from, but the whole town was surrounded by a forest area, so it was all somber. Especially in the winter. One of my brother’s friends actually went missing last year in the woods.”</p><p>Eddie’s eyes widen. “Shit, did they find him?”</p><p>“Yeah! He had fallen from his bike and hit his head pretty hard, was out for almost forty hours until a cop found him. But he’s fine now.”</p><p>“He’s lucky he’s not dead,” Eddie frowns, as if not believing the opposite. “Head injuries are the worst, my mom told me one of her cousins hit hers against the bathroom wall and bleed to death right <em>there</em>.”</p><p>“I’ll tell Will he’s lucky,” shrugs Richie. “Anyway, I wanna go to the Quarry sometime.”</p><p>“Yeah— you totally should. Maybe, I dunno, come with us next time? Not this week though, it’s gonna be so hot and not even the best sunscreen can help so maybe like, Sunday or something,” lowering his eyes to check his watch, Eddie asks. His eyes go back up to Richie for a second before he exhales, “I— my mom’s gonna throw a fit if I don’t go back now, shit. I’m gonna go, but we can hang out tomorrow, are you like, free tomorrow? I can tell Stan and Bill, or do you think your mom will be pissed if you go out so soon? You got here today after all and—”</p><p>“Shit, Eds! Breathe!” Richie giggles, palming his shoulder and finding joy in the glare sent his way.</p><p>“That’s not my name. Don’t call me that,” Eddie mutters before getting back to his feet, dusting his shorts off. “So, you? Free tomorrow?”</p><p>“Sure thing. I think my ma’s gonna be over the moon with the fact I’m going out. She thinks I need vitamin D and stuff.”</p><p>Eddie snorts. “Okay.”</p><p>Richie grins again, watching the other kid crossing the lawn and disappearing at the corner of the fence.</p><p>“See you, Eds!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>“mi hermano” = my brother</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. letter to Will</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mike writes a letter and Richie finds his people.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello everyone!!! first of all i wanna say that i was supposed to post this two days ago, but i totally forgot lmao</p><p>anyway, i’m very excited for this chapter, mainly because i wanted to introduce my king mike hanlon already. also i hope there are not many confusions with the other mike lol i tried to make it clear but it case it’s not, pls let me know !</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>JUNE, 1984</strong>
</p><p>Almost a week has passed uneventful since the Toziers arrived to Derry.</p><p>Mike has taken this time getting used to his new surroundings. After the rest of their furniture was sent, he arranged his room (the one at the end of the corridor, he picked it himself) as he desired, enjoying the feeling of control over something so mundane.</p><p>Today he has reserved the moment after breakfast to start taping some posters to the wall. The majority of them were gifts by Lucas and Max scattered through the period of years. Some of the bands were even introduced to him by them.</p><p>When he goes to the nightstand to grab rip another piece of tape for the last poster laying on his bed, the door opens with a creaking sound typical of the house and Richie steps in, grinning awkwardly.</p><p>“Hey, Mikey! How are you doing this fine morning?”</p><p>The ripped tape waits in Mike’s fingertip while he fixes the poster on the ideal position on the wall.</p><p>“What do you want?”</p><p>The younger Tozier huffs.</p><p>“Why do you think I always want something from you? Can’t I just say hi to my dearest brother?”</p><p>“I am your only brother,” Mike points out.</p><p>“And the dearest, of course,” Richie’s voice is sweet like honey, but he drops the act when his brother doesn’t even blink. “Shit, Michael. Cooperate a little here, will you?”</p><p>Skillfully, Mike presses the first piece of tape on the upper left corner of the poster, then repeats the action with the bottom right corner. Once it’s placed, he takes another two pieces of tape to put in the other two corners. He then runs a flat hand over it, making sure it’s secured flat against the wall.</p><p>“Fine, I’ll bite,” he tells Richie during the process. “I’m doing great, <em>brother</em>. What about you?”</p><p>“Right, I’m glad you asked! So, I promised ma I’d help her clean aunt Linda’s stuff today, but Eddie said we could hang out today and I really, <em>really</em> want to…” he clasped his hands together in prayer. “So would you be so kind to replace me—”</p><p>“No way.”</p><p>“Mike, c’mon!”</p><p>“No, Rich. You should’ve thought of that before making plans with those kids. A promise is a promise!”</p><p>Richie has made friends easily, as Mike expected. His little brother is a talkative ball of energy, so it was just a matter of time for him to find other kids in Derry who appreciated that.</p><p>And so he did, on their first day there, no less.</p><p>Just when Mike was finishing unpacking some old books, Richie had run back inside, excitedly telling him and Maggie about some boys he met <em>just on the street </em>(Mike’s eyes had widened in horror at this detail), by the names of Bill, Stan and Eddie.</p><p>The three boys have come back — every single day, for Mike’s disgrace. They sit on the front porch and talk each others’ ears away about this and that, their voices muffled through the window in Mike’s room, Maggie occasionally bringing them a tray with watermelon pieces and lemonade to snack.</p><p>While annoying, it has been one of the few things that make sure they’re out of Hawkins for good.</p><p>“I know,” Richie sighs defeated, walking to Mike’s bed and practically letting himself fall like a rag doll on top of the duvet, face down and dramatic as ever. “I just— I really wanna see them today.”</p><p>Mike knows what is happening. Richie has tried to guilt-trip him into doings things for him enough times to identify the symptoms.</p><p>“Why?” he asks anyway. “What’s so special about today?”</p><p>“Eddie said something ‘bout UV rays being ‘not too bad’ to go to the Quarry.”</p><p>“What the fuck is the Quarry?”</p><p>“Somewhere close to a cliff? Not really sure. It’s a really cool place though— at least Eddie thinks so.”</p><p>“Which one is Eddie? The tall, lanky one?”</p><p>“Uh, no. That’s Stanley.”</p><p>Richie rolls onto his side until he’s laying on his back, just when Mike sits down by his side.</p><p>“He one with the fanny pack?” he tries again.</p><p>“Yup! That one.”</p><p>“Wasn’t he the one yelling the other day about germs on the grass? Why would he want to go there?”</p><p>“Force of habit I guess, ‘cause he does think it’s filthy as hell. But that’s like half of the fun, innit?” Richie lifts his head up to send Mike a grin that isn’t reciprocated. Instead, he sighs and palms his shoulder.</p><p>“Tell you what. I’ll take your place helping Ma, but you gotta do something for me.”</p><p>“Really?!” Richie springs out of the bed, glasses bouncing dangerously close to falling from his face. “Sure thing! What do you want?”</p><p>Mike reaches wordlessly over to the nightstand, pulling open the small drawer and taking a neatly fold envelope with two stamps and an address scribbled on the side. He hands it to Richie sheepishly.</p><p>“Take this to the post office.”</p><p>Richie blinks slowly. He takes the envelope and, against Mike’s warning glare, reads the address.</p><p>“Oh, letter for Will! Why didn’t you tell us you were writing for him?”</p><p>There is an answer. Mike wanted something a little more… private, to tell Will about their arrival to Derry, without having to add Maggie or Richie’s commentary on the subject. That isn’t something Mike wants to admit out loud to his little brother, so he just shrugs.</p><p>“Wrote it last night pretty late, so. Yeah. Sorry.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” now Richie shrugs, but continues to study the letter, as if it was the most interesting thing. “Are you gonna send letters to the others too, or just to your favorite?”</p><p>The heat in Mike’s cheeks comes instantly with the comment, so intense he feels his whole face and neck burning up.</p><p>He wants to say that <em>yes</em>, he’s sending letters to the others, not only to his ‘favorite’ whatever that means out of Richie’s mouth — Mike has different types of sour candy for Dustin and Jane, and magazines for Max and Lucas he got from the grocery store he planned to send as well. Right now, he just happens to find writing for Will a little… easier, somehow. Words came almost automatically to him when doing so.</p><p>But that isn’t something he wants to admit either, so he groans and shoves Richie back instead.</p><p>“Shut the fuck up.”</p><p>Richie laughs, because his teasing getting predictable reactions satisfies him, apparently.</p><p>“I’m just saying!”</p><p>“Yeah, no shit, you dumbass. Just fucking take that to the post office.”</p><p>Giggling again, Richie shoves the letter into his pocket and storms out of the room, not closing the door behind him.</p><p>—</p><p>Richie’s bicycle, along with the beds and other heavy furniture, was one of the last things to get to Derry.</p><p>That was mainly the reason the meeting point for Stan, Bill and Eddie has been Richie’s front porch for the past days. It was easier, Stan said, because Richie was new in Derry and they couldn’t have him walking around streets he didn’t even know.</p><p>Now Richie is biking around streets he still doesn’t know, admiring at the places he couldn’t the first day through the car’s window and waving at random people whose eyes linger on him, but at least he has instructions to get to the Quarry scribbled on his palm with blue ink.</p><p><em>If you have trouble finding it, go back home and call me— I can pick you up, we’ll go together. And I’m definitely drawing you a map for future references</em>, Eddie said over the phone, earlier that day, voice thick with his characteristic worry.</p><p>And Richie had laughed, <em>C’mon now, Eds! How big is Derry? There is no way I’m getting lost</em>.</p><p>Sadly, Richard Tozier lives to prove himself wrong every day.</p><p>“Uh… fuck, which street is this again?”</p><p>Eddie’s <em>Don’t be late</em> sounds in his head, so he keeps on pedaling, glancing at his unknown surroundings and hoping to get some sense of location soon.</p><p>Then it happens.</p><p>One second, he’s looking over his shoulder to try and make out the name on the street pole at the corner.</p><p>And the other, his bike is bumping violently into a tree and Richie is being thrown at the hard concrete of this beautiful residential area with so much force he hears something break somewhere on his body.</p><p>“Shit!”</p><p>He groans, feeling the impact more on his knees and forearms, where little rocks have dug into the skin displayed by his t-shirt and denim shorts.</p><p>The attempt to get up in a sitting position is painful but successful. Beside the fall, Richie is pretty sure his wrist hit the bike’s handle hard enough to bend it in an unnatural way, and rotates it pathetically just to make sure it isn’t broken.</p><p>It’s not, he realizes with a little sigh of relief. The last thing he needs is a visit to the ER.</p><p>There is a raffling sound of metal crashing behind him, similar to the one his bake made when it hit the ground, and an unknown voice that comes closer.</p><p>“Hey, are you okay?!”</p><p>“Just peachy,” Richie lets out a weak laugh, wincing as he fails to stand up. He whips his head up to the stranger whose figure remains standing at the other side of Richie’s bike. “Uh, help me out? Please?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, sure! Don’t worry!”</p><p>It takes all in Richie’s willpower to hold back a gasp when a firm grip wraps around his arm and his whole body is jerked upwards, easily getting him back on his unsteady feet. He giggles and turns to his surprisingly strong savior, just to realize he can’t quite <em>see</em> them.</p><p>“Shit, my glasses— where are they?”</p><p>“Oh,” the savior says, letting go Richie’s arm. “Wait a second, I think I saw them— here.”</p><p>They’re placed carefully on Richie’s open palm, who slides them on immediately. He notices they’re a little roughed up, lenses a little dusted, but the structure is fine overall. Richie blinks as the world goes from a blur to clarity again and proceeds to make a show of dusting off his clothes.</p><p>“Shiny as new, huh?”</p><p>It turns out his savior is another boy. He is about Richie’s height, dressed in blue jeans and a nice t-shirt of a different, deeper shade of blue. He stares at Richie with unconcealed concern, as if he was afraid he would suddenly break in any minute.</p><p>“Are you sure you’re okay? That fall was pretty bad.”</p><p>“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m not made of glass,” Richie smiles and ignores the throbbing pain on his wrist. “Thanks, uh…”</p><p>“Mike Hanlon,” he supplies, smiling too.</p><p>“Funny! That’s my brother’s name,” observes Richie. “Thanks, Mike Hanlon. I’m new in Derry, in case the shit I just pulled hasn’t given it away already.”</p><p>“Oh believe me, it did,” Mike nods, smile tightening so it contains his laugh. “I’m sorry, really, I just— it was kinda funny.”</p><p>“No, no, it’s okay. Don’t worry about me! Actually, I’m glad my pain caused you such joy!” Richie attempts to sound offended, but can’t repress his own grin. He holds his hand out. “Richie Tozier, at your service.”</p><p>Mike rushes to shake it, now full-on laughing.</p><p>“Nice to meet you. And it did cause me joy, only when I made sure you were okay.”</p><p>“Oh, my hero.”</p><p>Richie notices a bike that isn’t his thrown carelessly on the ground behind Mike and the pieces of the story that were missing fall into place; Mike stopped his way only to help Richie’s clumsy ass. He’s sure Eddie would probably be freaking out about bacteria on the asphalt that now clings to Richie’s skin if he was in Mike’s place and <em>Fuck, I’m supposed to be at the Quarry now</em>.</p><p>Per a rather embarrassing but necessary request, Mike Hanlon ends up helping Richie get to his destination, since he knows now that he’s late and Eddie’s furious frown can almost be pictured in his head. He knows the kid has a bit of an extreme temper and no, Richie isn’t trying to piss him off. At least not today.</p><p>“So, why do you wanna go to the Quarry?” Mike asks at some point, their bikes right beside each other as they cross another street Richie doesn’t recognize.</p><p>“Gonna meet some friends there,” he considers leaving his answer at that, but quickly adds, “Bill, Eddie, Stan? Maybe you know them from school?”</p><p>“Not possible. I’m homeschooled.”</p><p>Richie hums with interest. “How’s that like?”</p><p>“It’s fine, I guess. I don’t really have anything to compare it to. A little boring.”</p><p>Boring and lonely, that sounds more like it. It reminds Richie of Beverly and he feels suddenly determined to find this kid a friend. Or friends, in plural.</p><p>As the streets around them turn into trees and dirt paths, Mike tells Richie about his family’s farm. It’s a hard job that gets dull if you don’t know how to keep up with it, but he has no complaints, and finds himself enjoying it from sometimes. When his grandfather doesn’t put too much pressure on him, at least.</p><p>Richie isn’t too surprised to find out that the Quarry is just how he imagined by Eddie’s description. The tall grass tickle his legs as he and Mike pedal through the green area, birds chirping as they fly above the trees, the warm sunlight reaching every corner. It’s nothing special, Richie knows, but he still feels his heart jumping at the sight.</p><p>There are three other bikes laying on the ground near the cliff. Richie recognizes Bill’s green backpack on the ground as well. Before he can glance around to try and find its owner, Mike stops and places his feet on the ground to steady himself.</p><p>“Are those your friends?”</p><p>Richie looks over to where he’s nodding at; Bill, Stan and Eddie are each sat down on the flat upper side of a rock, talking animatedly.</p><p>“Yup, they are. Here,” he climbs down of his bike, motioning for Mike to do the same. “Let’s go.”</p><p>“Let’s go?” the kid looks startled, and even a little panicked. “No, but I— I wasn’t invited, I should go—”</p><p>“I am inviting you now,” says Richie, shrugging. “C’mon, hang out with us for a while. Unless you’ve got something else to do?”</p><p>Mike looks down at his bike for a second before climbing off, leaning it against a tree as Richie did.</p><p>“Okay, let’s go.”</p><p>The chatter the three boys are having stops at Richie and Mike’s arrival. Automatically Bill nods as a greeting for them both, not even questioning Mike’s presence. Stan scoots over to make more room on the rock. Eddie smiles, until his eyes scan Richie’s lanky figure from head to toe.</p><p>“What the fuck happened to you?!” he squeals.</p><p>He doesn’t wait for an answer and instead rushes to Richie’s side, taking his left arm to examine the scratches over it with an scandalized expression.</p><p>“Jeez, it’s good to see you too, Eds.”</p><p>“Shut up. You look like shit,” Eddie snarks, but holds his arm as if it was really made of glass. “Fuck, Richie. Did you run into Henry Bowers?”</p><p>“What? No. I just fell off my bike,” he laughs. “Mike here saw the whole thing, didn’t you?”</p><p>He nudges Mike, who shakes his head with a grin.</p><p>“It made my day.”</p><p>Bill and Stan ask Mike for details about how Richie absolutely <em>ate shit</em>, which doesn’t offend him as it probably should, and dissolve in giggles as Mike goes into deep commentary about it.</p><p>Richie considers joining the conversation to clarify that <em>the tree came out of fucking nowhere, I swear</em>, when he notices Eddie is still holding his arm.</p><p>“Uh, is everything alright?”</p><p>“You’re bleeding,” Eddie says matter-of-factly.</p><p>He’s right. One of the scratches on Richie’s arm is indeed bleeding, along with other two big ones on his left leg and one on his right knee. It’s not a big deal; only a few drops attached to the skin, but it still earns Eddie’s rapt attention.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“C’mere,” when Eddie tugs him, Richie wordlessly follows. “I’m gonna clean that up right now. I can’t believe you haven’t done that, you fucking idiot. If you get an infection, your skin’s gonna rot and pus will come out of the wound like foam.”</p><p>There’s something incredibly endearing about hearing Eddie rambling about medical stuff and insulting him in the same breath.</p><p>“Cool.”</p><p>Once they’re back at where the bikes rest, Eddie instructs for him to sit down on the ground while he fetches something from fanny pack, which was strapped around one of the sides of his bike’s handle.</p><p>“That’s so <em>not</em> fucking cool, Richie. Do you have any idea what could happen if you actually catch an infection?” he mumbles furiously, too busy fumbling with his belongings to glare at the other boy. “You could get a severe illness. You could get your arm chopped off!”</p><p>“You say such sweet things,” Richie’s tone is dreamy. “Sweet, so sweet. I’m lucky I’ve got you to suck my wound, Dr. K— ha, get it? ‘Cause—”</p><p>The teasing is abruptly cut off when his wrist moves slightly, the motion causing it to sting. The pulsating pain makes him gasp.</p><p>Eddie turns around, alarmed. “What?”</p><p>“I think my wrist it took the worst of the fall,” he explains, clutching it tight to his chest. “I dunno why, it didn’t hurt this much a minute ago.”</p><p>“The adrenaline must be rubbing off. That happens when you fall,” Eddie sighs. “Soon you’re gonna be all sore, but don’t worry. I’ve got some painkillers.”</p><p>After zipping the fanny pack closed, he plops down beside Richie. In his hands there are three different white bottles and a plastic zip bag with a couple of gauzes inside.</p><p>Dutifully, Richie gives Eddie his arm and lets him get to work.</p><p>—</p><p>“We need to talk.”</p><p>Maggie leans her side on the doorframe, watching as Mike goes through the million boxes there are in the basement, the cardboard material covered in dust and humidity. He has successfully finished with three of them, all piled up on the folding table he settled under the only working lighting bulb, her back facing her as he opens the fourth one.</p><p>They’re aunt Linda’s old belongings; journals, books and jewelry, even shoes and some scarfs. Maggie had been insistent in sorting the things that still have use apart from the ones that are too old, but felt hesitant to actually open the boxes.</p><p>Mike knew it was because she didn’t want memories to come back to her so soon. He sourly can relate to the feeling, so doesn’t really mind helping.</p><p>“I hate how that sounds,” he protests, but puts down the box and turns around. “Okay. What is it?”</p><p>She chuckles, face softening.</p><p>“It’s nothing bad.”</p><p>“Then why did you wait until Richie left to tell me?”</p><p>“I didn’t. I kinda forgot he was going out today with those kids he met,” her smile slowly fades until it’s replaced by a frown and her eyes wander down, refusing to meet his. “I… I dunno how to say this.”</p><p>Mike’s heart skips a beat. His attempts to read her expression are useless.</p><p>“Ma?”</p><p>“I got a job.”</p><p>Silence reigns the basement. Maggie has crossed her arms over her chest, but it seems like she wants to hug herself more than actually do something with the two limbs. Mike loudly breathes out.</p><p>“What? When?”</p><p>“I passed by the local hospital on Friday when I went for groceries and there was a sign saying they need nurses and I thought, uh, well— I’m a nurse, right? I haven’t actually worked as one in years but I went to school for it, so I went in and talked to this old nurse and she said there wasn’t any demand for the job so I got it. I just thought it’d be a good idea, considering we don’t have much money left and— I’m so sorry, dear. Are you upset?”</p><p>If there’s something the Toziers have in common, is their ability to ramble when they want to.</p><p>“Upset?” Mike parrots, scowling. “What? No, ma, why would I be?”</p><p>‘I’ll have to leave you and your brother alone for long periods of time every day. You’re not even in school yet, it’ll be such a responsibility—”</p><p>“Ma,” he smiles, tilting his head to a side. “It’s not like Rich and I have never been alone before. It’s alright.”</p><p>Maggie’s lips form a straight line. “Is it?”</p><p>“Of course it is. We can take care of ourselves. This is important— I mean, look at you! You’re gonna go back to work!”</p><p>There isn’t much to remember, but sure Mike can recall Maggie talking about how exciting her job used to be. He must’ve been only five or six years old when she came back home, exhausted, but proud of the use she was giving her knowledge. It makes sense somehow, how her willing to help others had guided her to that specific working area.</p><p>One thing Mike remembers the most is the look on her face when she told him she had quit: it was sadness, it was pure powerlessness she tried to conceal so badly. <em>Hah! It seems like I finally gonna have a break, huh dear? It was about time.</em></p><p>“You deserve this,” he concludes, sounding more sure of himself.</p><p>And when she smiles, the whole basement lights up.</p><p>She walks over to him, taking both hands up to hold his face, softly caressing his cheeks. Mike remembers her doing the same thing when he was little too.</p><p>“Thanks, my dear.”</p><p>Mike is not exactly a touchy person. He doesn’t like being hugged if he’s not told beforehand, or when Richie grabs his arm to shake him in order to get his attention, or when he was younger and would get his hair ruffled by teachers who swooned at him. <em>You’re so cute, Mikey!</em></p><p>Many times he has thought that maybe he is a touchy person — when he’s told about hugs, he actually enjoys them. Jane has always given great hugs. Lucas too, although he gives them every full moon. When he was little and hugged Richie’s baby figure to help him stand up, Mike always felt his chest fill with pride at the smile in Richie’s face. And it was nice when people ruffled his hair; he felt appreciated. But that also made him feel dependent on that feeling.</p><p>(“You can’t go around hugging people. Your father isn’t here to tell you, but there’s no use for a man that weak,” his uncle said once.)</p><p>The fear of dependance was stronger to his crave for appreciation, so Mike slipped into the conclusion that human touch should be something carefully measured and limited for him.</p><p>That idea has lingered in his mind for years, but if there’s someone he feels comfortable around enough to be vulnerable, that’s Maggie.</p><p>“It’s okay, ma,” he shut his eyes to focus on the warm touch. “When do you start?”</p><p>“Tomorrow Monday. I have everything already arranged; there will be food for the time you’re alone and the hospital’s number in case of emergencies—”</p><p>“I’m not worried,” he clarifies, smiling slyly. “<em>You</em> should stop worrying.”</p><p>She rolls her eyes, but breathes out a laugh as she pulls away.</p><p>“Once you finish with that box, come upstairs to have lunch, yeah? I’m gonna make roasted chicken and mashed potatoes, curtesy of a cute bowl I found in a shelf that looks perfect for mashed potatoes.”</p><p>“Sure thing,” he nods, a smile tugging at his lips.</p><p>—</p><p>“How can you like chocolate mint?” Eddie scowls at the ice cream on top of the cone Stan is holding.</p><p>The curly haired boy shrugs. “I have good taste.”</p><p>“Yeah, no. That’s fucking disgusting.”</p><p>Right between them, Bill rolls his eyes at the bickering.</p><p>Back at the Quarry, he was sure it would be a great idea to jump off the cliff right into the water, but Eddie convinced him (more like bullied him into thinking) otherwise. The improvised bandages and band-aids he stuck to Richie’s arms and legs would come off and, according to Eddie, swimming in dirty water with open wounds, as small as those wounds were, had to be at least the cause for half of deadly illnesses listed in that medical magazine his mother had on the coffee table.</p><p>Richie tried to protest, but the glare Eddie sent his way was more than enough to keep his mouth shut.</p><p>Stan, always the wise one, then proposed for them to bike back to town and hang out at the park, since the good ice cream stand has a discount on Sundays. Mike supported this idea, so it was a matter of time for the rest to end up agreeing.</p><p>That took to Eddie, Bill and Stan sat down on a bench across the stand, waiting for Mike and Richie, who are still waiting for their own cones.</p><p>“Shut up, Stanley, you obviously don’t know anything about—”</p><p>“So,” Bill impassively cuts Eddie off. “Thoughts on Ri-richie and M-mike? Luh-losers club material or not?”</p><p>“Definitely losers club material.”</p><p>“I feel like that’s not really a compliment,” Stan raises a brow. “But yeah, I guess. They’re cool.”</p><p>“Who’s cool?”</p><p>Richie’s voice sounds just when Mike takes the only spot free by Stan’s side, the other boy standing in front of the bench.</p><p>“Nothing,” Eddie says in auto-pilot. He glances at the flavor of ice cream Richie has got, frowning as he recognizes it as bubblegum. “Ugh, you like that thing? Talk about bad taste.”</p><p>“First of all, fuck you, this shit’s delicious. Second, if you got basic vanilla, you don’t get to talk about bad taste,” Richie grins tauntingly.</p><p>Stan snorts while Bill throws his head back in laughter and Mike, bless him, sides with Richie to defend the honor of bubblegum flavor. Then happens what Richie expects; Eddie is glaring at him and opening his lips to spit back something just as silly.</p><p>Hours pass.</p><p>Conversation threads so easy and beautifully between the five boys Richie feels his chest warm up with pure excitement.</p><p>This, none of this, happened back in Indiana, because back there people knew Richie for being loud and obnoxious and that was reason enough to stay the hell away from the younger Tozier. Teachers classified him as hyperactive, classmates as annoying and other older classmates as punchable. Max, one of Mike’s friends and the most badass girl Richie knows, had lectured him about it once. <em>It’s their loss, alright? You’re great. Don’t let what they think get to you. Not everyone’s gonna like you, so what? You’ll find your people</em>. The thing is, Richie never met another kid who really wanted to spend time with him. Sometimes, he ever wondered if said kid truly existed.</p><p>Now, he knows they do.</p><p>This time, the first one to leave is Stan, right after their finish the ice cream. Bill teases him about going back home so early, at which Stan calmly responds with <em>Some of us have responsibilities, you know?</em></p><p>Mike follows shortly after, blaming chores around the farm. Richie asks for his phone number and scribbles it on his arm with Bill’s pen, on the one without band-aids. Mike warns not to call after nine because his grandfather goes to bed early and would be pissed at the noise. Finally, the two boys promise to see each other again before Richie watches him biking away.</p><p>At some point in the afternoon, Richie says something that makes Eddie groan with annoyance and bump his knee against his in an attempt to shut him up. It doesn’t work, as expected, but it sure makes Richie remember Mike’s letter, neatly folded in his pocket.</p><p>“Shit,” he puts his hand over the paper on his thigh, biting on his lip. “I forgot I gotta go drop something at the post office. You know where it is?”</p><p>“No, I’ve lived my whole life without mail,” Eddie deadpans, causing Bill to giggle at his right. “Of course I know where it is.”</p><p>“Sweet! Where?”</p><p>But instead of answering, Eddie gets up, staring at Bill and Richie expectably.</p><p>“C’mon.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“I said c’mon, dipshit. We’re going to the post office,” he says obviously, rolling his eyes for good measure.</p><p>“Oh!” Richie scrambles to his feet, nodding at Bill. “Let’s go, Big Bill, before Eddie Spaghetti right here gets even more bossy.”</p><p>“Holy shit—” Bill wheezes just when Eddie turns to glare daggers at Richie.</p><p>“What the <em>fuck</em> did you just call me?”</p><p>“Bossy? That’s an adjective, Edward. I’m surprised you don’t know—”</p><p>“Not that! You know what I mean!”</p><p>“Aw, Eddie Spaghetti? It’s cute, admit it! It rhymes with your name and everything!”</p><p>A vein in Eddie’s neck looks about to snap. Bill poorly tries to conceal his laugh behind a cough. Richie, a picture of innocence, smiles at the shorter boy.</p><p>“So? Shall my personal guide take me to the post office, or what?”</p><p>Eddie groans, but nods. “You’re the worst. Don’t call me that ever again.”</p><p>But Richie doesn’t promise anything.</p><p>—</p><p>The first person Mike Tozier calls from his new number was Will Byers.</p><p>Well, that was the plan, at least. It was nine at night when Maggie told him she was going to the grocery store, for last-minute shopping to fill the kitchen cabinets in order for Mike and Richie to survive their time alone during the week, leaving the older Tozier totally alone and seeking some company for the night; he remembered that Maggie had checked the phone-line the day before, confirming its working state.</p><p>There was a smile on his face as he walked up to the phone hanging on the living room wall. As he dials the Byers number, he expects Will’s smooth greeting, just like the last time he called.</p><p>This time he finds Jonathan’s voice instead, and the disappointing new that Will had just gone out to meet Dustin and Lucas and probably wouldn’t come back until late. Mike holds back an annoyed sigh and thanks Jonathan before hanging up.</p><p>He’s an impatient boy, always has been, according to Maggie, so throwing a tantrum seems like the quickest option right now, but before he can open his mouth and swear like a sailor, Maggie’s soft scold comes somewhere in his head; <em>Dear, you can’t expect Will to sit around and wait for you to call all day</em>.</p><p>He ends up running upstairs to retrieve the heavy book of the Hawkins phone guideline from the shelf above his dresser before going back to the phone.</p><p>Now his fingers find the buttons matching the number on page one hundred thirty two, his hand pressing the phone against his ear. It takes more than three series of <em>beep, beep, beep</em> for another voice to manifest at the other side of the line.</p><p>“Chief Hopper speaking.”</p><p>“Hey, Hopper. It’s Mike.”</p><p>“Tozier!” the man laughs tiredly. “I thought I had finally got rid of you when you moved, kid.”</p><p>His tone is absolutely fond. Mike chuckles.</p><p>“Yeah, that’s not happening. Even if I was in England, I’ll still annoy you.”</p><p>“I count on that,” Hopper promises. “Although I’m guessing it’s not me you’re calling for, is it?”</p><p>“No, sorry. Is she home?”</p><p>“Just got here. Max took her for a, uh, girls day or something earlier at the mall. Came back with a bunch of bags,” he must’ve pulled away from the phone because his voice is muffled when he calls, “Jane! Someone in the phone is asking for you!”</p><p>Mike hears shifting before another voice, delicate and curious, sounds on the line.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>“Mike!” he can almost see her jumping in excitement. “Hello, how are you? How is Derry? Did you have any trouble with the moving?”</p><p>“Derry is… not so different from Hawkins.”</p><p>She hums, not minding he only answered one of her questions. “Think you shouldn’t have moved then?”</p><p>“No, no,” Mike clarifies. He knows she means well. “I think we did the right thing, El.”</p><p>“El,” the voice of Jane Hopper fills with nostalgia. “Nobody calls me that nowadays, you know.”</p><p>“Don’t they?” <em>They shouldn’t</em>, Mike wants to add. <em>It’s my nickname. Not theirs</em>.</p><p>“Nope. It’s Jane for everyone,” she’s smiling. Either she’s very predictable or he knows her more than he should. “I’m not complaining— just so you know. I like it, when— um… when you call me that.”</p><p>Now he’s smiling too.</p><p>“Have you spoken to Will?” Jane suddenly asks.</p><p>“Yeah, last week when we were on the road. I called him from a public phone— I would’ve called you all, but I had no time, you know?”</p><p>“No worries, um, when was that?”</p><p>“Sunday,” Mike mutters, narrowing his eyes at her wary tone. “Why?”</p><p>“So you haven’t spoken to him recently?”</p><p>“I guess not. Where are you going with this, exactly?”</p><p>“Listen…” she starts, and Mike knows he won’t like what’s coming next. “I was hoping that maybe he had already told you about what happened…”</p><p>He would hope so too. Will tells him everything, from the good to the bad, even including the embarrassing and the disastrous, there is no such thing as a secret between the two boys.</p><p>But Will didn’t mention anything during their call. He never said if something had happened — he never said a ‘something’ existed at all.</p><p>“What? What is it?” he demands, voice harsher than necessary.</p><p>Jane hesitates. “I don’t know, Mike, I shouldn’t be the one telling—”</p><p>“El. C’mon. What happened?”</p><p>The line goes to silence for a couple of minutes. The only sign that she is still there is her breathing; Mike had hold his, too nervous to try and exhale without it coming out shaky from his lips.</p><p>“Will hasn’t had a good week, that’s all.”</p><p>“The fuck you mean with <em>not a good week</em>?” his fingers tighten around the Hawkins phone guideline.</p><p>“Some boys, mainly Troy I think, have been following him around town for days— Lucas proposed one of us to go with him every time, so we’d make sure he was safe, but it’s hard, we’re all busy and I—”</p><p>But Mike isn’t listening anymore. He has felt his heart deflate and pour through his ears. Surely the organ is now laying on a puddle on the floor, utterly broken by the mere attempt of imagining what Will has been going through. He wants to speak and ask Jane for more details, ask what the others have been doing to help Will, ask her if it would be a good idea to drive back to Hawkins and beat the shit out of Troy.</p><p>His throat feels too dry for that though.</p><p>“I told Max maybe we should tell someone about it, but she’s sure Troy would only target Will more if he finds out one of us ratted him out… I’m so sorry, Mike. I really thought you knew.”</p><p>A million possibilities cross his mind, but none of them can give a good reason to why Will didn’t tell him. He can’t even settle on how he feels — worried? Hurt? Confused? Perhaps a mixture of all those. He wonders if that’s what Will, Dustin and Lucas are talking about right now.</p><p>Before he can say anything, the front door bursts open and the known voice of his little brother fills the air.</p><p>“I’m home!”</p><p>“El, Richie’s here. I gotta go,” Mike whispers.</p><p>“Okay, okay— can you give me your number? I wanna call you tomorrow.”</p><p>“Not a good idea,” he can sense Richie’s steps coming closer and closer. “I’ll call you when I can, yeah? Bye.”</p><p>He hangs up to avoid giving her any time to protest, just when Richie calls again.</p><p>“Ma? Mike?!”</p><p>“In here!”</p><p>When the younger Tozier appears at the living room, the only thing Mike can think is that he’s <em>beaming</em>, all messy hair and shiny eyes, looking as if he had just won the lottery as he goes to lay on the sofa.</p><p>“Where’s ma?”</p><p>“Grocery store,” Mike doesn’t elaborate; Maggie said she wants to tell Richie about her new job herself. “How was your day?”</p><p>“Fucking <em>awesome</em>, Mike,” Richie lifts his hands up, motioning around him. “Shit, the Quarry is— it’s really pretty, as Eddie said. We threw rocks at the water and Stan said he saw some super weird bird or some shit like that. He’s such a fucking nerd for birds, but the way he talks? God, it’s hypnotizing. Oh, oh! And I met this other kid, actually, when I fell off my bike and almost fucking died, that’s why Eddie put all this crap all over me— he said I should change the band-aids, but I have no idea how to do that. I’ll ask ma, she’ll know what to do. Anyway! When I fell off, guess who helped me? This dude, his name’s Mike too! You’d like him. You should meet all of them!”</p><p>“Breathe first,” Mike reminds him. “You didn’t go swimming in the water, did you? ‘Cause that’d be fucking gross.”</p><p>“No, of course not. Eddie would’ve had an aneurysm if I had swum with his work on me,” Richie giggles, showing Mike his arm; the gauze covering the biggest scratch has lost support from the tape Eddie used and now exposes part of the damaged skin.</p><p>“Shit, Rich. That looks like it hurts.”</p><p>“Nah, I’m good. Eddie made sure of cleaning it all very well. He’s a fucking pro at that, I’ll let you know. The kid carries a pharmacy in his fanny pack.”</p><p>“I mean, I would rather die than wear one of those, but that’s a practical use of a fanny pack,” Mike snorts.</p><p>Richie grins, then notices the Hawkins phone guideline in his hands.</p><p>“Who did you call in Hawkins?”</p><p>Mike places the book on the coffee table before turning on his heels, making his way over to the kitchen.</p><p>“No one. Hey, do you want grilled cheese for dinner?”</p><p>—</p><p>
  <em>Will,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I have something important to say (or write):</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Remember when we talked on the phone the night before I left, and we were guessing how aunt Linda’s house was going to be? You said “scary” and I’m happy to tell you that you were right. It is fucking dark and scary, like the ones we usually see in horror movies. Something always bad happens in the attic.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That being said, I have a good feeling about this. I just wanted to get out of Hawkins.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Now, that doesn’t make Derry any better, you know. It’s really whatever. Although I haven’t taken the time to go out and explore, honestly, so maybe I should do that first. Go and connect with nature, you said? Consider it done.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’d be way funnier with you guys here, I miss you like crazy. Dustin would love some of the sights in Derry.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>By the way: I told ma about your plans to visit on Thanksgiving and just as expected, she’s over the moon with the idea of having you here. Now you must come, otherwise you’ll break her heart (<strike>and mine</strike>)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For last, Will: thank you for putting up with me these last couple of months. I know what I’m like, I know I can get pretty moody and weird, especially with the whole moving thing. You listened to me and you talked back when you felt like I needed to listen. You, Will Byers, are truly one in a million.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mike Tozier</em>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>title from sweater weather ! any comments or kudos are appreciated :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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